


You and Me and All Our Misery

by Drazyrohk



Series: Drifting [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fingering, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Substance Abuse, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wrench Throwing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4801970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drazyrohk/pseuds/Drazyrohk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet thought he had everything planned out so perfectly, but even the best laid plans go awry in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Perceptor has a potty mouth, Ratchet is Ratchet, and there are mentions of Rodimus Prime.

Ratchet and Perceptor had something more in common than Earth or science. They had more in common than tools and math. Something further than badges and the fact that they had followed Optimus Prime. 

Ratchet and Perceptor had Drift. Once upon a time, they had shared their life with the mech, and they had also both lost him. 

Ratchet entertained the thought of approaching Perceptor, of seeking comfort in him for their collective loss. He wanted something to distract him, something to focus on beyond the emptiness of his spark and his berth. He wanted some solace in the face of the violent anger he felt towards Rodimus Prime, wanted to feel something other than blame and hatred. 

When the medic realized that he was starting to behave just as poorly as the mech he was inwardly raging about, he put his foot down and made his decision. 

Even though he didn't go to the bar much these days, seeing as there was nothing there he wanted, least of all company, Ratchet found himself becoming a frequent visitor there. He would order himself a drink, sit at a table alone, and he would watch. 

Perceptor had no choice but to be there if Brainstorm was most nights. He had to babysit the other scientist, after all, but he would often indulge in a drink or two while Brainstorm did his socializing. 

There was the odd occasion when Perceptor would come into the bar alone, usually after a long day, and it was on one of these occasions that Ratchet was waiting for him with a brightly colored, sweet drink on hand just for the microscope's drinking pleasure. 

Optics widening, lips parting in quiet surprise, Perceptor looked down at the medic when he was boldly invited to join him. 

“That would be nice, thank you.” Perceptor said softly, sitting across from Ratchet and reaching out to take the drink. “This is unusual.” 

“Not so much, just a variation of what you usually order.” Ratchet said in reply, Perceptor blinking at him. 

“Even more unusual is that you know that at all.” He said, taking a sip of the drink. “It's lovely, thank you. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Ratchet shifted in discomfort, picking up the small glass he had in front of him that held a concentrated Engex blend he'd had Swerve prepare for him. “I think it's past time for me to broach the subject.” 

Perceptor watched him in silence as he downed the drink and set the glass down a little too firmly on the table again. The scientist made a 'go on' gesture with one hand and took another sip of his drink. 

“I know this is sort of sudden, and probably really improper and poorly planned, but consider this whole situation here a belated 'me asking you on a date.'” Ratchet said, Perceptor swallowing a little too quickly and letting out a cough. 

“Ratchet?” Perceptor's optics were watering, and he stared at the medic as if he had sprouted a second head and started reciting Megatron's poetry. 

“I'm not really all that happy at the moment.” Ratchet said gruffly. “I'm in a bad way and it's starting to show. People avoid me more than normal and I'm fragging happy about that because I don't want to have to deal with all of their petty scrap. But it's also affecting my ability to do my job, and as I'm one of the very very few medics aboard, that's not a good thing. This is me trying to do something about that. Trying to fix it.” 

“By asking me on a... a 'date?'” Perceptor sat up a little straighter, shaking his head. “I don't understand.” 

“I miss him.” Ratchet said, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose. His shoulders slumped and he had a nearly imperceptible tremble in his hand as he reached down to awkwardly toy with his empty glass. 

There was a light of understanding in Perceptor's optics when Ratchet chanced to look up at him again. The scientist reached down and picked up his glass as well, raising it to his lips. He vented slowly, then drained the rather large and rather sweet drink, making a face as he put the empty cup down and pushed it away. 

Getting up rather abruptly, Perceptor stared down at Ratchet. For a moment, the medic thought Perceptor was going to hit him, but then he gave an odd jerk of his head and turned to leave. Hastily, Ratchet got up to follow him out the door. 

“Wait, please don't.” Ratchet called, Perceptor looking over his shoulder briefly before hurrying down the hall. “Perceptor, please stop.” 

“How long?” Perceptor spat, looking over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” Ratchet said with a frown. 

“How long have you been watching me? Concocting this rather inept plan to seduce me so you could unburden yourself of your pain?” Perceptor didn't stop, continuing down the hallway. 

“... since he left.” Ratchet said, Perceptor pausing very briefly. “I thought we could both use the comfort.” 

“Then you should have approached me sooner, Ratchet.” Perceptor said, walking away from him again. “There is such a thing as 'too little, too late.'”

“If you've shacked up with someone and I'm currently stepping on someone else's toes, I apologize.” Ratchet growled, feeling rather indignant about having to chase the other mech. He finally caught Perceptor's shoulder, the scientist going rigid like he had been electrocuted.

Belatedly, Perceptor scoffed. “There is no one else.” He said, refusing to look at Ratchet but no longer running away. “And you are hardly the first mech to attempt to use me as a replacement for someone else.” 

Ratchet pulled his hand away, looking at Perceptor with wide optics and a down turned mouth. He didn't know what was worse, the insinuation that Perceptor thought he was using him, or the fact that someone out there was presumably doing the same thing. 

“Percy, I didn't do this so that I could replace him.” He said softly. “There aren't a lot of people on this ship that I can stand being in the presence of right now. I thought, since we had a lot of history between us, that you might be open to the idea of making a little more.” 

“So that's it? This is just a 'hook up?'” Perceptor turned to face him at last, optics dark. “What sort of a mech do you all take me for? Did Brainstorm put you up to this? Trying to upset me so that I'll go... running off to him and throw myself into his arms while weeping over the injustice of it all?!” 

“What the frag, Percy, no-”

“It's Perceptor. And thank you for the drink Ratchet, but no thank you, I don't think I'll be having any part in whatever this is.” Now the mech's voice was thick and he jerked away from Ratchet, who stood there looking bewildered. 

 

They didn't really have to bother avoiding one another. They worked in separate areas of the ship, there was no shortage of patients for Ratchet to tend to, keeping him busy. It would have been going out of his way to actually seek the scientist out again, so he just didn't bother. 

Ratchet didn't actually see Perceptor again until he was called to the firing range to tend to the wounds of a mech there. If anyone noticed that the medic and the scientist were ignoring one another politely, they didn't comment on it. 

It was chilling to see Perceptor in 'sniper mode,' his normally curious optics cold and focused intently on the distant targets. Ratchet couldn't help flinching whenever Perceptor's rifle fired with a sharp crack. He quickly finished up his task and left without looking back.

He and Perceptor encountered one another a week later when the medic had a rare free moment to make a delivery to the labs. While Ratchet chatted with Nautica, Perceptor worked studiously on something with Brainstorm to one side. The microscope hardly offered more to the animated conversation Brainstorm offered than the occasional grunt to show he was listening. 

It took less than two days after this for the inevitable blow up to occur. And of course Rodimus fragging Prime was at the center of it. 

Ratchet was finishing up some reports when Rodimus strode in and demanded his attention. There was something about mods the captain had been keen on getting, something about Ratchet 'owing him' for what Rodimus referred to as a 'slander to his processing ability,' and the medic found himself at the end of his very short fuse. 

To his credit, at least he didn't flip his desk like Prowl would have in the same situation. Unfortunately for Ratchet, the tool he hurled in Rodimus' direction as the captain fled from his rage missed the target and instead bounced off something very hard just outside the door. 

Something impenetrable, even. 

Perceptor stood on the other side of Ratchet's office door, optics wide with shock from the unexpected assault. Rodimus didn't even pause before hurrying past the stunned scientist, shouting over his shoulder about 'finishing their talk later.' 

Ratchet's fans were on, trying to cool his frame as fury burned through him. He clenched his hands into fists, raising them to strike out at his desk before locking optics with Perceptor and forcing himself to lower them again. 

Hot air hissed from his vents as he flared armor to release it, Ratchet gritting his denta so hard his jaw creaked. “Sorry.” He ground out, enough venom in the word to make it seem like he didn't mean it. 

Perceptor gave another little jerk of his head, perhaps an attempt at shaking it and nodding at the same time. He didn't approach, remaining rooted to the spot. 

“Why are you here, Perceptor?” Ratchet hated how angry he sounded. It wasn't Perceptor's fault, but the mech was in the wrong place at the wrong time and there weren't any other targets to take it out on. “It's really not a good time.” 

“Maybe it's the perfect time.” Perceptor said softly, Ratchet feeling another flare of anger well up in him. If the scientist wanted to flirt with danger, so be it. “I came to invite you for drinks.” 

“I was under the impression you weren't interested in that sort of thing.” Ratchet said, forcing his hands out of fists and pressing them palm down against his desk. They rattled against it until he put enough pressure on them to make it stop. 

“I admit, I could have handled the situation a little better than I did. I'd like the chance to try again.” Perceptor glanced from his face to his hands, then looked away. “Should I come back later?”

“That's probably for the best. I'm not going to be such great company tonight.” Ratchet felt an ache beginning in his chest. He didn't need this right now. He needed a stiff drink, he needed to break things. 

“I find that... when I am feeling particularly vexed and frustrated...” Perceptor worried his bottom lip with his denta briefly, still looking away. “I find that it's easier to express my vexation rather than bottle it up.”

“I thought Rung was the therapist on this boat.” Ratchet snapped, balling his hands into fists again. Thinking about Rung wasn't making him feel any better. Thinking about Rung giving anyone advice when he made the willing choice to shack up with Rodimus Fragging Prime made the medic see red. 

“Actually, I learned that from Kup.” Perceptor glanced at him, reaching down slowly to pick up the wrench that Ratchet had unknowingly hit him with. “I find it easiest to go to the firing range. Imagining the targets are actually the faces of whomever the focus of my ire is... that's usually enough for me.” 

Now Ratchet couldn't help wondering if that day, at the firing range, it was his face that Perceptor was imagining. Those cold optics, the deadly precision... and Ratchet had hit him with a fragging wrench. 

“I'm not a fighter.” Ratchet said, slumping down into his chair. He didn't have the energy in him to do more than sulk right now. His fire had burned out. 

“You are a fucker, though.” The human profanity made Ratchet jolt in his seat, the medic looking up in shock. Perceptor was staring at him, and Ratchet could see him trembling. 

“I beg your pardon?” He said quietly, watching Perceptor draw himself up a little taller. 

“You're a fucker.” Perceptor repeated. “And an insufferable one at that.”

Ratchet honestly didn't know what to say, and stammered a few times before falling silent and staring right back at the scientist. 

“I had to work very hard to convince myself to give you another chance, but I was right about you just looking for a casual hook up. Not once after our initial conversation have you bothered trying to approach me.” Perceptor said, striding into the room to slam the wrench down on Ratchet's desk. “The worst part about all of it is I had the fleeting impression that you may have been sincere in your loss and loneliness!” 

“You made your disdain for me very clear, Perceptor.” Ratchet said, frowning. “I didn't see any reason to waste my energy!”

“Oh, I see, so you're lazy as well?” Perceptor leaned over the desk, optics narrowed. “Is that correct, Ratchet?” 

“Maybe you should have LISTENED to me when I was talking to you instead of making assumptions!” Ratchet got to his feet, this time not holding himself back. He slammed both fists into the desk, but Perceptor barely flinched. “I was looking for comfort, not looking to have my face rubbed in the mess I've been leaving in my wake everywhere I go!”

Perceptor didn't lean back, though his optics became less narrowed and more focused. 

“It's been killing me.” Ratchet said, immediately raising one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose again. “I've been angry all the time, like a youngling going through his first armor upgrade. I was trying to find an outlet, Perceptor. I thought you of all people would understand what I needed.” 

“So you thought I could be your outlet? That is your argument? Your excuse?” Perceptor cried, fluid pooling in his optics. “How is that supposed to make it any better? I told you, I will not be used!” 

“I wasn't trying to use you!” Ratchet struck his desk again, his field surging around him. “You asked me what sort of a mech I took you for, but I gotta wonder the same thing! Do I seem like the type of mech to use someone for my own gain and then toss them away?! Do I really come across as that sort of a... a...” Ratchet snarled, unable to find an appropriate insult. 

“Brainstorm only wanted me because I remind him of Quark! You only want me because I remind you of Drift!” Perceptor shouted. 

“Everything reminds me of Drift!” Ratchet roared, reaching across the desk and seizing Perceptor's collar. “Everywhere I look, everything I do, I am reminded of him! That's why I don't sleep! That's why I hit people and throw things! That's why I throw myself into my work! That's why I drink too much and I yell and I fight and that's why I wanted Rodimus gone!!” 

This time, Perceptor did reel backwards, optics watering and denta clenched. 

“I thought you would understand. I thought that together, we could fight to find some sort of... of normalcy!” Ratchet brought his hands up and jammed them against his optics, shoulders slumping. “I approached you because I wanted to forget about Drift, Percy. Not because I wanted to remember.” 

“And how am I supposed to help with that? I miss him too, Ratchet.” Perceptor said in a small voice, Ratchet feeling his own frame beginning to shake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if plans go awry, everything has a way of working out in the end.

Ratchet's hands were sensitive, and since he had been working before Rodimus came in, the sensitivity was turned all the way up. Because of this, he could feel Perceptor's touch before it was actually on him.

Warm and trembling, Perceptor’s fingers twined through his, and with gentle pressure the scientist pulled Ratchet’s hands from his face. 

“I miss him so much.” Perceptor said, his expression twisting sadly. “I have been… selfish. I was so caught up in my own misery that I did not even see I was not the only one suffering.” 

He stroked his thumb along Ratchet’s hand, the CMO venting weakly and bringing himself to meet Perceptor’s gaze. 

“Will you indulge me tonight, Ratchet? Join me for a drink? I think there are some miscommunications we need to straighten out.” Perceptor said, and Ratchet nodded silently in agreement. 

Perceptor seemed to be doing a better job executing Ratchet’s carefully laid plans than Ratchet himself had. The medic didn’t pretend that it didn’t sting, admitting that to himself.

 

The bar was busy, but of course it was busy. There wasn’t much else to do aboard this ship, after all. Rodimus was also there, but Ratchet ignored him easily thanks to Perceptor’s hand tucking into his own to pull him into a corner booth. 

This was the booth he and Drift always used. The one that Ratchet and Drift always used, too. It seemed appropriate. 

Perceptor confessed with heated face plates that he didn’t know Ratchet’s usual order, the CMO offering to go to the counter himself. It meant he had to pass the loud, rambunctious mechs sitting with Rodimus in the middle of the room, but he continued his determined ignorance. 

No one called him over. Whirl managed to nudge him with an elbow when he was getting his own drink from Swerve, but he merely leered and didn’t speak. 

Swerve gave him a cheeky, knowing smile when he handed over the drinks Ratchet ordered, the CMO rolling his optics and thanking the stocky mech before heading back to the corner. 

“I think people are waiting for some sort of explosion.” Ratchet said under his breath when he slid back in next to Perceptor. 

“Goodness.” Perceptor said, glancing around the room. “I don’t see why. I don’t think our behavior has ever given the indication of that possibility.” 

They talked for a long time. Neither of them had more than the single drink since there was no need for lines to be blurred tonight. 

Ratchet talked about how he would have been lucky to have Drift all to himself, that mechs like Drift didn’t choose mechs like him to be exclusive with. He insisted that he never held it against Perceptor that Drift kept going back to him. 

Perceptor didn’t try to explain it away as Drift being a racer and needing more attention because that would have been making Drift out to be like Rodimus and there were never two mechs who were more different than those two. 

He also went on to say that he never felt any resentment towards either Drift or Ratchet because he knew Ratchet was taking care of Drift. If Ratchet didn’t, no one else would. Especially not Drift. 

Drift never called the wrong name. He was always eager and happy to be with them, always sweet and giving… 

Ratchet wasn’t ashamed that he broke down first. He felt Perceptor’s arms around him before his head could even make it to the arm he had leaning on the table. Perceptor’s field offered comfort, offered affection, and Ratchet soaked it up as best he could. Frame trembling from the effort of holding back his sobs, Ratchet didn’t fight it when Perceptor got to his feet and led him quietly from the bar. 

The scientist was deceptively sturdy. He supported Ratchet’s weight easily as they exited and began to make their way home. Wherever that ended up being tonight.

“It’s fine.” He heard Perceptor tell someone as they passed. “He’s just had a rough day.”

There was the sound of Perceptor fumbling with a keypad for a hab suite sometime later. Ratchet had his hand over his eyes and wasn’t really paying attention to where they were going. Perceptor’s arm tightened around him and Ratchet was led into a familiar room. 

It still smelled like him. Faint wisps of incense, weapon oil… nothing else of Drift remained, but it was enough. Ratchet couldn’t figure out if it made everything worse or better. 

“Come on.” Perceptor urged him softly, taking him to the empty berth and letting him collapse down onto it. The scientist then sat next to him, gathering Ratchet into his arms once more. “Let go.” Perceptor said, barely above a breath, right next to his audial. 

Ratchet needed no further prompting. Wrapping his arms around Perceptor’s torso, he stopped fighting. Fingers dug roughly into metal almost to the point of denting it and Ratchet wailed. Perceptor’s reaction to it was physical, the scientist dragging Ratchet against him roughly, pressing his mouth against the medic’s shoulder to smother the small sound that escaped him. When Ratchet struggled to vent inwards and cried out again, Perceptor’s hand closed on the back of his helm, and both of them were shaking, frames rattling together. 

“He’s out there somewhere, on his own!” Ratchet snarled after a few long moments. His helm ached, the aftereffect of forcing all of that hurt, all of that pain out. His fingers tightened a little more on Perceptor’s armor, but if the scientist was bothered by it, he didn’t say. “All because of Rodimus continuing to make poor life choices because someone thought it was a good idea to put him in charge! What a mess… everything’s a mess…” 

“He’s still alive.” Perceptor said, voice weak and hoarse. His cries had been much quieter, but the effect was much the same. 

“I know… I wish I had gone with him. I never should have helped him onto that shuttle. I never should have let him go!” Ratchet cried. Perceptor didn’t hush him, he just rubbed his cheek against Ratchet’s shoulder and stroked his fingers down his back to try and soothe him. “He’s so fragging stupid sometimes. Him and his stupid ‘my faith will protect me’ and he’s just gonna pick the wrong fights and get himself killed…”

“We have to believe that he will be fine.” Perceptor said, pulling back to take Ratchet’s face in his hands. “If we lose all hope of him coming back, neither one of us is going to be alright.” 

“I wanna kill Rodimus.” Ratchet said, lower lip wobbling. 

“You can’t kill Rodimus. That wouldn’t help anyone.” Perceptor leaned his forehead against Ratchet’s, his thumbs moving gently along the CMO’s jaw. 

“Might make me feel better.” Ratchet grumbled, and Perceptor managed a choked laugh. “Look at me. I’m a mess.” 

“Yes you are.” Perceptor said in agreement, placing a gentle kiss to the middle of Ratchet’s chevron. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me this way.” Ratchet said, optics dimming. “Sobbing like a sparkling…”

“On the contrary, Ratchet.” Perceptor leaned back to meet his gaze, hands still on the sides of Ratchet’s face. “Thank you for trusting me enough to let me see you this way.”

“I don’t… have many lifelines.” Ratchet’s expression crumbled and Perceptor leaned in again, pressing light kisses to his cheeks and the side of his mouth. “You’re all I’ve really got to hold on to… Like I said, I thought you of all people would understand.” 

“I do now.” Perceptor said. “I am here, Ratchet. What do you need of me?” 

“Just that.” Ratchet ex-vented weakly. “I think I just need you to be here.” 

 

They agreed to go on regular ‘dates.’ Luckily, Ratchet didn’t break down during any of their future meetings. While there were still more tears, there wasn’t any hysterical sobbing. 

It was on their third date that they shared their first real kiss. It started off sweet, but Perceptor was rather aggressive and they ended up leaning against the wall outside Percy’s room while kissing furiously. When roaming hands began getting a little too adventurous, Ratchet was the one to pull away. 

They agreed that the hallway wasn’t the place for this, and Perceptor said he’d invite Ratchet in next time. 

He made good on this after their fourth date, inviting Ratchet into his hab suite. Their kisses were blistering and there was no need to discourage wandering hands. Perceptor made beautiful noises when Ratchet’s fingers were knuckles deep in his valve, the CMO showing the scientist just how brilliant medic’s hands could be. 

Their fifth date saw them escaping the particularly rowdy crowd at the bar to adjourn to one of the observation decks. There, Perceptor proved that his mouth wasn’t just good for spouting science and his glossa had far more talent than just pronouncing long, complicated terms. He gazed at Ratchet from between the CMO’s thighs the entire time, optics wickedly bright and devious. Ratchet did his best to smother his cries by biting down on his hand. 

Their seventh date didn’t even really happen. They didn’t make it to the bar. Ratchet received a short message from Perceptor requesting his presence at his hab suite and proceeded there as soon as his shift was over. 

The scientist buzzed him in without a word, and when Ratchet entered, the lights were dim. He didn’t actually see Perceptor until the other mech was upon him, pushing him firmly against the wall and molding his frame to Ratchet’s so that the CMO could feel practically every burning inch of it against his own. 

“Just dispense with the formalities and fuck me already.” Perceptor growled, his mouth soundly cutting off Ratchet’s bewildered spluttering. 

There was no way Ratchet could argue with that. Making a noise of determination, he locked his arms around Perceptor’s waist and lifted him from the floor. His glossa plunged into the other mech’s mouth, and Perceptor let out a low groan of appreciation. 

It wasn’t even as if his spike was woefully neglected these days, but the way it connected with its panel with an audible thump, one would assume he hadn’t used it in years. Ratchet wobbled his way over to the berth (Perceptor was honestly heavier than he seemed, all of that reinforcing, no doubt,) and they crashed down onto it, the CMO uncasing his spike almost immediately. 

Perceptor’s hands were as greedy as his mouth was, Ratchet pressing his hips into them as the scientist took hold of his length and explored along it with the precision one would expect from a mech like Percy. 

Breaking the kiss, Ratchet panted, bit his lip and looked down. His hand went immediately to Perceptor’s scope, skirting along the base of it before moving to the lense. “Does this come off?” He asked, noting how Percy’s optics flared a bit as he traced his finger over the edge of the lense and the way his fingers tightened their grip on Ratchet’s straining spike. 

“N-no, no it does not.” Perceptor’s vents hitched as Ratchet continued to touch him. “Is that… that going to b-be a problem?” 

“I doubt it.” Ratchet smiled, leaning down to nibble on Perceptor’s scope and listening with satisfaction to the gasp it elicited. “I didn’t realize this was so sensitive. Is that why you always slap away people’s hands when they try to touch it?” 

“Not appreciating smudges i-is just a hmm… just a cover.” Perceptor was squirming now. Ratchet put a little more pressure into his touches, and Perceptor let out one of those noises that Ratchet loved hearing so much. “W-w-why do you think I d-don’t polish it when o-other people are in the r-roooom OH!” 

Ratchet placed his lips just under the lense and sucked gently, stroking his glossa over the same spot and rubbing a thumb against the base again. 

“Ratchet, PLEASE.” Perceptor begged, hands trying to tug him closer. He heard the scientist’s panel open. “Please just fuck me! I need you!” 

Something about Perceptor using that word, with that voice of his and its lilting accent… Ratchet’s spike twitched in the scientist’s hand, and he reached down to jerk the other mech’s hips up. Perceptor spread his legs wider and Ratchet carefully guided himself in. 

There was a fleeting worry that perhaps this was happening too fast. That maybe they should have waited. But then Ratchet was sinking into eagerly pulsing depths and Perceptor was so hot, so wet, so ready for him that any doubt was pushed away. 

Leaning his head back and crying out, Perceptor arched into him. Ratchet hooked one hand around the back of Perceptor’s thigh, opening him up so he could push deeper, his cooling fans overclocked and his vents dumping heat as fast as they could. 

“Ah Percy… I love the way you sing for me.” Ratchet said, panting. He drew back and pressed forward, a little more each time until the head of his spike was seated as deep as he could get it. The entire time, Perceptor made his pleasure very clear. His voice was like a damn aphrodisiac, and Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to smother any of the sounds Percy was making. 

Legs suddenly snapped around his waist, dragging him against the superheated frame below him. Perceptor’s fingers dug into his sides, his back, and Ratchet found himself meeting Percy’s intense gaze. 

“Let me guess.” Ratchet said, leaning down to speak against Perceptor’s mouth. “Fuck you?” 

“Hard.” Perceptor breathed. He squirmed, making another soft noise of lust. “If that’s alright with you.” 

Ratchet pulled out, easing himself back in, Perceptor ex-venting and letting his optics dim. Ratchet repeated the motion, unable to keep from smirking. “Like this?” He asked.

“No, harder.” Perceptor said firmly, pressing his hips upwards. 

Ratchet made a thoughtful noise, his movements picking up a bit of momentum. “This better?” 

“Not nearly enough.” Perceptor gasped. “Harder, please.” 

Shivering lightly, Ratchet leaned into Perceptor and began thrusting with a little more force. 

“Mm, Ratchet!” Perceptor protested, grinding against him. “Harder! Fuck me harder!” 

Groaning, Ratchet pressed Perceptor down into the berth and began driving his spike into the other mech as hard as he could. Percy shrieked joyfully, and Ratchet felt free to chase his own overload while clearly bringing Perceptor the pleasure he wanted. 

It didn’t escape his notice that he never would have done this to Drift. The kid had been through too much for Ratchet to pound away at him like this. As a result, it had been years and years since he had been allowed to lose control. 

There was also no way that Drift would have ever pounded Perceptor this hard. It wasn’t in his programming to potentially hurt someone he loved, no matter the situation. This was likely a departure from the norm for both of them. 

And that suited Ratchet just fine. While it wasn’t going to make him forget about Drift, it was certainly making sure that neither Ratchet nor Perceptor were a replacement for anything. 

“Oh stars and nebulas, RATCHET!” Perceptor shouted, hips jerking up into Ratchet’s. “Your spike is so big!” 

“Keep shoutin’, I don’t think the whole ship has heard you yet.” Ratchet said with a laugh. 

“L-let them hear me! Let them know you’re a literal GOD of interfaciiiiing!” Perceptor cried, his calipers cycling down on Ratchet’s spike, rippling and surging as lubricant burst around the CMO’s engorged length. “Oh yes! Yes!! Yes yes YES!” 

“Frag, Percy…” Ratchet felt himself laughing harder, and he gave a few more sharp jerks before overloading deep within Perceptor’s body. “Hnn, no WONDER Drift kept going back to you…” 

“Oh, little wonder why he sought you out as well.” Perceptor gasped and panted, Ratchet collapsing atop him and weakly moving his hips. Everything was too hot, too sticky, but Ratchet felt better than he had in ages. “Mm, yes, I want more.” 

“What?” Ratchet asked in disbelief, looking down at Perceptor. The scientist’s face was flushed, and he was biting one of his fingers while giving Ratchet a rather alluring look. “W-well… you’re going to have to give me a bit.” 

Perceptor giggle snorted, pulling his finger from his mouth and leaning up to kiss Ratchet sweetly. “I didn’t mean now.” He said, shaking his head. “But by the makers, Ratchet, you were incredible.” 

“Yeah?” Ratchet settled back down again with a short vent, allowing all of his weight to rest against the mech beneath him. Perceptor let out a pleased noise, wriggling a little to get comfortable before settling down as well. “Yeah, I guess I did pretty good.” 

“I’m sorry I was so vulgar.” Perceptor said, Ratchet snorting in amusement. “I just couldn’t wait any longer. I was aching to be taken and you played your part in remedying that very well.” 

“Happy to be of service.” Ratchet murmured sleepily. He hadn’t bothered extracting himself from within Perceptor yet, and every so often the scientist would flex himself around the length still buried within him. It was nice. 

They lay in silence for a time, both of them close to recharging but neither actually reaching it. Perceptor would raise his hand from time to time to trace along Ratchet’s chevron or stroke lightly at his hip or the small of his back. 

Ratchet just vented quietly, evenly, his cooling fans eventually dialing back until they were a low, background hum.

“He’d probably like this.” Perceptor said softly, Ratchet grunting in response. “I think he’d like this.” 

“Us?” Ratchet said, Perceptor nodding. “You’re likely right. Either that or he’d get all self conscious about it and think we didn’t need him anymore.” 

“Oh, if only he knew just how much we need him.” Perceptor sounded wistful, and Ratchet shifted so he could look down at the other mech. 

“We do. We need him.” Ratchet said firmly, a frown touching his face. “Percy… I’m gonna go find him.” 

“Oh Ratchet.” Perceptor shook his head. 

“I’m not kidding. To the pit with Rodimus and his stupid quest. I’m gonna go find Drift. I’m gonna bring him home.” Ratchet propped himself up, smiling in determination. 

“Truly?” Perceptor’s optics widened. “I ought to come with you-”

“No. One of us needs to stay here and make sure the world doesn’t almost end again.” Ratchet said, Perceptor making a soft noise of affirmation. “Rodimus is bound to frag things up… he always does. Better that you’re the one to bail us all out, I’m just a medic, but you’re a genius. They’re going to need you.” 

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Perceptor was smiling, though his optics looked a little dull, they way they did when he was close to tears. “You’ll really do it? You’ll bring him back?” 

“I’ll do it. I’ll find him. I’ll bring him home.” Ratchet vowed, putting one hand on Perceptor’s face. 

“I think that definitely earned you the right to give me another good, hard fucking.” Perceptor said matter of factly. He was wearing an expression of all seriousness, his optics brightening back to that wicked light he had worn on their fifth date.

Ratchet looked at him in amused bewilderment, then rolled his optics, jerked his hips inwards and pressed Perceptor down into the berth again.


End file.
